If I had a favorite flower it would surely be the
dandelion which moves across the tissues of the bleeding
earth, filling the crevices in the concrete wastelands
with green softness.
We can depend upon it to flower even
as the earth melts under our feet, even as our world silts
into the sea.
I will last less time than even these raven
hatchlings, mindlessly asking for food, food and more
food, because I've already stopped growing, because I
already know all I will ever know, because I delineate
myself to concrete paths.
These big-eyed babies, awkward,
rank and stupid will lift in the air simple as flecks of
dandelion down while I sink in the crumbling waves of
rock.